


Early Morning

by the_pen_is_mightier



Series: waking up to you [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, South Downs Cottage, Tenderness, They love each other, Waking Up, Watching the Sunrise, morning fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 06:22:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_pen_is_mightier/pseuds/the_pen_is_mightier
Summary: The sunrise is better when you have someone to share it with.





	Early Morning

“Wake up, dear.” 

The voice was hushed, soft, and it broke through Crowley’s sleep like a gentle beckoning finger. Crowley opened his eyes to see Aziraphale’s face - every line, every laughing crinkle around his eyes and mouth close enough to touch, to kiss - eagerly leaned down towards his own. A picture that drew him easily from comfortable sleep into an infinitely more comfortable reality. 

“Hrm…” He shifted slightly, sinking farther into the mattress. “What is it?” 

Aziraphale’s hand smoothed back his hair, and Crowley felt tender lips brush over his forehead. “Get up. We said we were going to watch the sunrise.” 

Crowley blinked. Oh, yes, he’d forgotten - they’d made that resolution last night, when Crowley had revealed, without really thinking about it, that he’d never done so before. He’d always been an enthusiastic sleeper, and dragging himself out of bed before dawn had never sounded appealing to him. But it had, somehow, when Aziraphale had suggested it. When Aziraphale’s blue eyes had lit up, when he’d said _oh you must, Crowley, it’s lovely,_ suddenly it had seemed like the most perfect way anyone could spend a morning. 

Aziraphale’s arms guided Crowley out of bed. Still sleepy, Crowley was haphazard in choosing his clothes, ending up with his own black pants and a white button-down of Aziraphale’s that smelled pleasantly like the angel. Aziraphale nuzzled his shoulder affectionately but didn’t comment. Looking as put-together as always, he led them downstairs and outside. 

It had been a few weeks now since they’d moved into this cottage away from London. Tasting the fresh air, the dustless dew in the mornings still filled Crowley with a sensation he couldn’t quite explain: a fullness, a sweetness, like a new beginning. He breathed deeply, letting it invade his lungs. It tasted like autumn, the world’s six thousandth, and his first, somehow. He relished it as the two of them climbed together through the slick grass to the top of a hill. 

“We’ll get the best view from here,” said Aziraphale.

They settled against the trunk of a large tree. Crowley leaned his back against it, stretching his legs out, and Aziraphale nestled himself without a word into his arms; his head rested on Crowley’s shoulder, blonde hair pressing into Crowley’s cheek. Crowley hugged Aziraphale tight to him. 

“Hmm,” said Aziraphale contentedly. 

Crowley’s eyes lifted to the horizon. The sky was ocean-blue, but a certain brightness was beginning to infuse it, gold swimming upward to dance for a moment with the dark. “Will the sun be rising soon?” 

“A couple of minutes.” 

Just fine. Crowley was content to wait. Already, with the warm heaviness of Aziraphale pressed against him, he felt more comfortable than should be possible. With a slight shift of his legs he kicked off his shoes, letting his toes sink into the grass, the dirt. Crickets chirped from somewhere indistinct around them. 

No, Crowley hadn’t watched the sunrise for millennia. What had he been doing? Sleeping, sometimes, or just lying in bed and thinking, or hiding, or hoping, or remembering. Fearing the sun, and missing it too, and breathing in air that seemed strangely thin in his recollections - nothing like the soft breeze that now caressed his lengthening hair. Never feeling the weight of another on his chest. 

He leaned his head against Aziraphale’s and sighed out the lightness in his heart, letting it kiss the waking world around him. 

Pink stained the sky like a liquid, then orange, then bright, firey yellow. Crowley wasn’t wearing his sunglasses, but it didn’t matter - he could still see, well enough, the beauty of the sun as it reached into the sky, spilling its tendrils of light upward like spiderweb threads. Slowly illuminating each leaf and flower, turning the soft night to a warm, blazing day, turning the muted darkness to rich color. Crowley could see everything, the shifting blue above as the stars rolled back, the rainbows that glittered from remaining dewdrops as white light shattered through them, the butterflies unfurling damp wings from their nighttime hiding-places, ready to replace the crickets in their dance through the grass. 

“Oh, darling,” Aziraphale murmured, and Crowley blinked. He turned his face and saw Aziraphale staring down at his hands, eyes shining with tears. 

“What is it?” he said. 

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and ran his fingers tenderly over the back of it. “This whole place - the ground, the trees, the sky - it feels so _loved._” 

Crowley smiled. He brought his hand up to stroke Aziraphale’s jaw. “I love everywhere I can be with you.” 

Aziraphale sniffed. 

“Do _you_ feel loved, angel?” 

When his angel turned fully to face him, his expression put the risen sun to shame. Crowley knew every curve, every move, every possible cast of that face from six thousand years of studying it, yet here he was bowled over by its joy all over again - and he knew how it was that humans could enjoy the rising of the same sun every morning for a lifetime. He knew how beautiful the rediscovery of something marvelous could be. 

“I do,” Aziraphale said, as though he hardly dared believe it. “I - Crowley, I feel more love from you than I know what to do with.” 

The morning sun shone blindingly down on them. It occurred to Crowley, as he kissed Aziraphale, as he retraced those long-loved cheeks, those dimples, with his fingers, as he leaned his forehead against Aziraphale’s and gazed into his eyes, that there was no longer any reason to shy away from it - no longer a fear, a need for shadows. It occurred to him as the light dripped down over them like gold, twining through their embrace, draping them like a blanket, crowning their hair like garlands, that the sun was their friend now. 

“What do you think?” he whispered. “Again tomorrow?” 

Aziraphale kissed him, featherlight. “Again every day, if you want to.” 

“I do.” Crowley smiled. “I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like my content? Find me on tumblr @whatawriterwields!


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